


electricity has a flavor (and it tastes like you)

by Puakaba



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cinderella AU, Flight attendant AU, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Making Out, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, drunk!victor, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 03:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puakaba/pseuds/Puakaba
Summary: Meeting Victor Nikiforov was certainly not what Yuuri had set out to do when he'd boarded the plane that morning. But he guesses that he hadn't planned to end the day with a mild concussion and memories of a pair of chapped lips pressed against his either.In a single day, Yuuri somehow finds himself entangled in a web of complications and miscommunications. And while Yuuri can't seem to forget about the man he met thousands of feet in the air, navigating the stormy skies of love and identity can be difficult for a heart of glass.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A hUge amount of thanks to [midnightlarrie](%E2%80%9Dmidnightlarrie.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) for beta reading and also for writing that summary you literally saved my ass a million times over.

 Yuuri Katsuki fears many things. Large crowds, unfamiliar settings, social gatherings, failure - to name a few. Despite his extensive list of fears and general anxieties, one thing has never bothered Yuuri: flying. He sees this as a fortunate position to be in considering his line of work.

 “Ma’am can I offer you a beverage?” Yuuri asks, politely smiling at the passenger.

 “A seltzer water with lime.” She doesn’t bother to look up. Yuuri prefers it that way, if he’s being honest. He hands the woman her drink and continues to push the cart down the aisle.

 Yuuri likes working in first class. Many of the people here are too preoccupied to actually engage with Yuuri, and while he appreciates the polite conversation he often gets in economy, he’s far better suited to the aloof detachment of first class.

 “Sir, would you like a refreshment?”

 The passenger, a gruff-looking older gentleman with a bald spot and surly grimace, puts down his newspaper to look up at Yuuri. He declines the offer somewhat brusquely before returning to his paper.

 Yuuri pauses. There’s something vexingly familiar about this man. Yuuri wonders if perhaps he’d seen him on another flight, but it seems strange to recognize this one man out of hundreds. A movie star, maybe? That doesn’t seem right. Yuuri’s met a few during his time as a flight attendant, and this man doesn’t seem like one.

 Content to move on without thinking further on the subject, Yuuri shrugs aand continues on with his work. He’s just about to continue down the aisle when he hears a voice calling for him.

 “Oh excuse me! Mr. Flight Attendant, would you be so kind as to bring me a glass of vodka?” the voice calls. Once again, the voice is oddly familiar to Yuuri and laced with a similar accent to that of the older man, who grunts disapprovingly at the order. Perhaps they know each other.

 “Of course, sir.” Yuuri prepares the drink quickly, knowing it’d be much easier to walk the drink over personally than to turn the cart around.

 As he hands the drink over, Yuuri pauses. Something about the man gives Yuuri the same wave of recognition that the man from earlier had given off. He seems to have much more of a movie star quality to him though: the easy posture, the charming smile, the flawless skin, the perfectly styled hair.

 His hair. His _silver_ hair.

 Yuuri gasps with realization, glad that he had already passed the drink over because if not, he would’ve dropped it.

 “Y-you’re you’re-” Yuuri stammers, pointing shakily at the passenger at disbelief. The man in question turns to look at him quizzically.

 How could Yuuri not have recognized him immediately? Granted, the man is much taller and broader than the last time Yuuri had watched him glide across the TV screen, and the hair that was once so long is now cut so that it sweeps over his dazzling blue eyes, but still- his identity is unmistakable.

 “Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri manages to breathe out, unable to fully grasp that his childhood idol, the legendary skater, is sitting in the seat before him. He stands there gaping, unable to gain control of his own body, until Victor finally speaks.

 “Ah well I feel bad,” he says, a charming smile stretching across his face, “you know my name but I don’t know yours. I suppose you’re a fan, then?”

 Yuuri nods, slightly more aggressively than intended. “Yes, I have been for a while.” He decidedly leaves out the part about having a crush on the man for over a decade.

 This seems to intrigue Victor, as he leans forward to get a better look at Yuuri, his eyes sweeping over his features with an intensity that causes the younger man to squirm under his gaze. Victor’s smile seems to grow more dazzling with each second. Yuuri gulps.

“Well I’m glad to be flying with someone so devoted. I really owe so much to your support,” Victor finally says, laughing good-naturedly before taking a sip of his drink. “My life is in your hands you know.”

 Yuuri straightens up and tries to regain his composure. “Of course, sir. Let me know if you need anything.”

 “I’ll be sure to do just that,” Victor says, winking. The flush that rushes up Yuuri’s neck and stains his cheeks is so obvious that there’s no way Victor doesn’t catch it. Still, the other man makes no mention of it as Yuuri hustles away.

 When Yuuri reaches the galley, he stows the cart away and pours himself a cup of ice water in hopes of cooling his face down. Yuuri pops the jump seat and collapses into it, thinking about what just happened. It seems impossible that he’s just met Victor Nikiforov in the flesh. After so many years of dreaming of this moment, Yuuri’s not entirely sure that he’s awake.

 Yuuri sighs, looking down at the ice cubes floating in his cup. Part of him, one that hasn’t come to light in a long time, secretly wishes that he’d met Victor on the ice as a fellow competitor rather than as a flight attendant. Yuuri remembers a time when he’d dreamed of being a skater. It’d been so long ago, back when he’d still been taking lessons in Hasetsu, back before reality had settled in.

 “-Yuuri!” The sound of his name being whispered sharply snaps Yuuri out of his thoughts. He sees Phichit standing before him with a concerned expression on his face.

 “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”

 Phichit sighs. “I was asking if you were okay. You’ve been staring at that one spot for like ten minutes.” Yuuri knows that he’s exaggerating, but he still finds it embarrassing to be caught daydreaming while working.

 “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just...thinking of something,” Yuuri apologizes, rubbing his arm sheepishly. Without realizing it, he glances at where Victor is seated.

 “Or some _one_.”

 “Excuse me?” Yuuri feels the blush swiftly returning to his cheeks.

 “Oh come on, Yuuri,” Phichit teases, “don’t think I don’t recognize that expression, and yes I did see that little look just now. Now come on, who’d you meet? Were they cute?”

 Yuuri hesitates, wringing his hands nervously and checking around the cabin before finally leaning and whispering in Phichit’s ear. He steps back when he’s done, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and amusement at the comically thrilled expression that overtakes Phichit’s face.

 “You’re shitting me!!” Phichit shrieks. Yuuri shushes him, but is unable to muffle his own gleeful giggles. Yuuri had met Phichit three years ago, as roommates in college, so Phichit knows the full extent of Yuuri’s crush. He’d seen the posters, heard the rants, witnessed the not-so-subtle dreamy looks, and now _this_. Phichit is so thrilled for his friend, it seems that _he_ is the one that just met his idol.

 The two remain huddled in the galley, squealing softly as Yuuri recounts the recent events.

 “You should ask for a selfie,” Phichit suggests, gripping Yuuri’s hands with excitement.

 Yuuri shakes his head feverishly. “I couldn’t- that’d be so awkward! Besides, I probably won’t get the opportunity to ask him again.”

 “Didn’t he say he’d be “‘sure to call on you again?’”

 “Yes…” Yuuri pauses. Victor _had_ said that, hadn’t he? “I’m sure he was just being polite,” he insists anyway.

 Just as he has finished saying it, a noise goes off to signify that someone has pressed the call button. Both Yuuri and Phichit freeze, exchanging looks before leaning over to check the ACP. Their eyes dart back to each other.

 “You go,” Phichit whispers.

 “What? No, I’ll just embarrass myself again,” Yuuri hisses back.

 Rather than responding to Yuuri’s protests, Phichit rolls his eyes and shoves Yuuri out into the aisle. Lovingly.

 A few passengers turn to look at Yuuri as he stumbles out gracelessly. He whispers apologies for disturbing them before whipping around to glare at Phichit. The other flight attendant grins cheekily and gestures for him to get a move on. Yuuri huffs, then takes a deep breath and approaches the seat.

 “How can I help you, sir?” He asks in the calmest tone he can muster.

 “Please, call me Victor,” the other man hiccups. He seems drunk. Yuuri wonders if the world-renowned Russian skater is a light-weight. For whatever reason, this possibility tickles Yuuri and he stores the information away somewhat self-indulgently. Perhaps it’s because if Yuuri manages to humiliate himself, at least Victor won’t remember it.

 “Well can I help you with anything then, Victor?” It sounds confident. Yuuri _feels_ confident. He can do this.

 Yuuri is met once again by the same dazzling smile and intense gaze, which is in no way weakened by Victor’s state of drunkenness. He can’t do this.

 “Why yes, I hope you don’t mind but I’m afraid I’m in need of another drink.” Victor tilts his head apologetically, but he never breaks eye contact with Yuuri. His eyes are such a brilliant shade of blue, like the sky. Yuuri feels his insides melt a little.

 “Right away sir-I mean Victor.” Yuuri reaches down for the glass just as Victor does the same. Their fingers accidentally brush against one another in perhaps the most cliche yet heart-racing way imaginable.

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri yelps, yanking his hand away like he'd touched a hot coal.

 Victor merely laughs and takes Yuuri’s hand into his own. “It’s nothing to apologize for, _lyubov moya_ ” he says, running his long fingers against the inside of Yuuri’s palm. Yuuri doesn't know what that last part means, but he stands there for what feels like way too long as Victor continues to caress his hand. His touch is so gentle and intimate, it feels like it belongs to a familiar lover rather than a stranger.

 Finally, Yuuri is able to pull himself out of his reverie.

 “Y-your glass,” he stutters, extending his hand once again for the cup. Victor looks at the glass, surprised, as if he’d forgotten that it was there.

 “Ah right,” he murmurs, handing Yuuri the glass.

 Yuuri hurries back to the galley to prepare it. Phichit isn’t there, something he’s slightly grateful for since he’s sure his face is still red as a tomato. When he returns, Victor is staring out the window with an expression that Yuuri can’t quite name.

 “Your drink, Victor.” Yuuri sets it down. Victor turns back to him and smiles again, but this time it is much more subdued.

 “Thank you very much, I hope I’ll be seeing more of you today.” Yuuri makes note that Victor tilts his head to the side when he smiles. The words and gesture seem so genuine that Yuuri can’t even process the blush that has once again found its way onto his cheeks.

 “I hope to see more of you today as well,” Yuuri replies softly.

. . .

 When Victor had said that he’d hoped to see more of Yuuri during the flight, Yuuri certainly hadn’t expected _this_.

 He approaches Victor, drink in hand, for the ninth time in the past hour. He fears he may be responsible for alcohol poisoning if things continue at this rate. Normally, Yuuri would be feeling slightly ticked off at having to go back and forth with the drink constantly, but it’s a bit of a special case in this scenario. Still…

 “Here you go, si- Victor.” He hands Victor the drink. Around Yuuri’s sixth trip to Victor’s seat, he’d finally managed to stop the quivering in his hands, but he still can’t get used to addressing the man so casually. His Japanese background makes Yuuri naturally more formal than most of his American counterparts and he still struggles with letting go of certain etiquettes even years after moving to America. In his current situation, however, he finds it particularly difficult.

 Victor smiles dreamily as he looks up at Yuuri with gratitude that is frankly just excessive for the simple task of handing him a drink.

 “Will that be all?” Yuuri asks, his throat feels hoarse. What has he done to cause Victor to look at him with such a look in his eyes? Victor continues to stare at him rather than respond. “Victor?”

 “Yes?”

 Yuuri’s collar feels tight around his neck as he swallows. The cabin feels stuffy.

“Will that be all?” he repeats, itching to hide away in the galley with Phichit. Victor hesitates, squinting at Yuuri. He looks as if he might say something but nods slowly instead.

 “Yes,” he hiccups, “thank you.”

 

 In the gallery, Yuuri begins to clean the station, tossing cups into the trash and wiping off the counter.

 “So how’d it go?” Phichit’s voice comes from behind Yuuri. He turns to see the other flight attendant grinning shamelessly.

 “How did what go?”

 Phichit rolls his eyes, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t play coy.”

 Yuuri huffs. He loves Phichit to pieces, but why must his best friend insist on being so pushy when it came to things like this?

 “Nothing happened, Phichit. He just wanted a drink.”

 “Yeah, _nine_ drinks. Who orders nine shots of vodka on an airplane?”

 “An alcoholic?” Yuuri quips.

 “Don’t say things like that, Yuuri. I’ll bet he just- OH MY GOD.” Yuuri startles at Phichit’s sudden gasp.

 “What are y-” his question is abruptly cut off as Phichit whips him around towards to see-

 “Victor!” Yuuri yelps. Victor stands there before them on unsteady legs wearing the same dreamy smile that Yuuri had left him with.

 “Oh my god,” Phichit whispers again, muffled by his hands crammed up against his mouth. “I have to…” his eyes dart around the cabin quickly before settling on something. “Go water some plants!” He grabs a couple water bottles off of the counter and dashes off. Both Yuuri and Victor watch him run off to water whatever the hell kind of plants there would be on board a plane in need of watering.

 Yuuri sighs before turning to face the man standing before him.

 "Hi there Victor, is there something you need?” Yuuri greets him, straining to remain calm. Phichit is wrong. Victor had meant absolutely nothing by constantly calling Yuuri back to his seat. Yuuri _insists_ on it.\

 Still, says a voice in his head that sounds a lot like Phichit, why Victor would bother getting up and walking here if all he wanted from Yuuri was a drink. Yuuri ignores that voice.

 “Yes, there is,” Victor says, stepping closer to Yuuri. Yuuri’s legs feel weak. God Victor looks so unfairly handsome for a man who has gotten himself thoroughly wasted halfway through a flight.

 “What is it?” Yuuri asks hoarsely.

 Victor is even closer now, so close that Yuuri can smell his crisp cologne. So close that Yuuri can see every individual eyelash that flutters flirtily over Victor’s darkened eyes.

 Yuuri receives his answer in the form of Victor’s lips suddenly on his. Yuuri’s mind short-circuits. Victor Nikiforov’s lips, his warm and ever-so-soft lips are being pressed needily against his. He takes a step forward, Yuuri stepping back in tandem until his back is pressed up against the folding doors of the bathroom. Victor breaks away to press a quick kiss against the corner of Yuuri’s mouth before pulling away entirely in favor of fumbling with the bathroom doors.

 Frustrated, Yuuri turns around and yanks the doors open before shoving Victor inside. As soon as he steps into the tight space, pulling the doors closed behind him, Victor is latching onto his neck, feverishly kissing and biting dark marks into the side of Yuuri’s neck. A breathy moan escapes Yuuri’s mouth at the feeling of Victor’s teeth against his sensitive skin.

 “Victor, you can’t leave marks, someone might see them,” Yuuri gasps out, tugging at Victor’s hair until the other man pulls away. Victor breathes out an apology, before moving back up to capture Yuuri’s lips, and they’re kissing again. Somehow, in the mess of lips and teeth and hands, Yuuri has found himself propped up onto the sink counter with Victor’s hands clamped possessively into his hips.

 Victor is everywhere around him, devouring him in a very literal way, Yuuri thinks as Victor catches his bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it. Yuuri tilts his head to the side so that he can get closer to Victor, moaning into the kiss as it grows hotter and messier. Yuuri’s never kissed anyone like this before, not in a way that makes the pain in his lips second only to the ache in his heart.

 Deep down Yuuri knows why his heart aches more and more with each kiss that Victor plants sloppily against his lips. He can taste his own guilt on Victor’s tongue, apparent in the tang of alcohol, sharp and bitter in Yuuri’s mouth. He knows that he shouldn’t, that it’s wrong to take advantage of Victor’s drunkenness in this way, but it isn’t until their teeth clack against each other that Yuuri can finally wince away. Victor pulls back, panting, and his glassy eyes meet Yuuri’s.

 The two stare at one another, chests heaving as their eyes roam over each other’s bodies. Yuuri takes in Victor’s disheveled appearance, his perfectly-styled fringe and neat button-down look like they’ve been through a tornado. His lips, his motherfucking lips are red and swollen, still slick with spit. Yuuri’s eyes flicker back up to Victor’s and they stand there in complete silence, tension thick in the air of the stuffy bathroom.

 “Say something,” Victor begs.

 Yuuri sits there, stunned. He doesn’t say anything, _can’t_ say anything. Victor’s eyes are still gazing deeply into his; there’s a certain sadness in them that Yuuri hadn’t noticed before.

 Another long moment passes, and Yuuri still hasn’t said anything. Slowly, Victor’s eyes fall from Yuuri’s and his hands withdraw from Yuuri’s waist, both are trembling with disappointment. Yuuri grips the edge of the counter, he hates himself for putting that look in Victor’s eyes but he knows that it’s for the best.

 Victor is just about to leave when Yuuri finally speaks: “Why?”

 It’s all he can choke out because Victor is looking at him again with those damned eyes.

 “Why what?”

 Yuuri swallows. “Why me?”

 Victor stares hard at Yuuri, his eyebrows knit in confusion. For a split second the glassy look in his eyes breaks and Yuuri can see a moment of clarity in Victor’s face. Victor lifts his hand up, brushing the pad of his thumb gently against the curve of Yuuri’s cheekbone.  

 “Because you’re-”

 Victor doesn’t get the chance to finish his response as suddenly the floor seems to drop out from under them. They both collapse as the plane lurches forward, dropping jerkily at random intervals. Yuuri’s heartbeat is thundering in his ears as he hears the pilot’s voice over the intercom.

 “Ladies and gentlemen it seems like we’re hitting a bit of turbulence please return to y-” The pilot is cut off by another violent tremor that wreaks through the plane, slamming Yuuri and Victor against the wall of the tiny bathroom.

 Yuuri realizes with a start that he needs to be out there, helping to control the madness. He’s shakily getting up and reaching for the door when he feels a hand gripping his arm. Yuuri looks down to see Victor cowering on the floor beside him, holding onto Yuuri as if it’s the only thing grounding him to this world. The floor jumps again and Yuuri hears a shriek as he crashes down beside Victor. He looks at the man again, taking in an expression that Yuuri can only describe as raw terror.

 “I don’t want to die.”

 The words are whispered, barely audible over the chaotic shrieks and jerks that it’s a wonder Yuuri can hear them at all. The cabin rattles furiously around them Yuuri’s eyes meet Victor’s for one final, weightless moment as Yuuri realizes- the plane is going down.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually tried to write a multi-chapter fic but oh well here we go...


End file.
